Page 55 of Kisses and Paperclips

A slow shrug. She wouldn’t meet my eyes. “I was bored.”

“Right,” I said, a grin tugging at my mouth. “Bored.”

She rolled her eyes, but I saw the heat creeping up her neck, the way her lips twitched like she was trying not to smiled.

“You said it was good,” she muttered.

I took a step closer. “I did. Didn’t think you were listening.”

Serena uncrossed her arms, resting her hands on her desk as she studied me. That assessing gaze of hers could make a man sweat if he had anything to hide.

“So what did you do,” she asked, “before waltzing in here like you own the place?” The question was casual, but her eyes were sharp. She’d been waiting to ask this.

I chuckled, leaning against her desk. “That’s how you ask about my work history?”

“Consider it a professional curiosity.” She tilted her head. “Unless there’s a reason you’re avoiding the question.”

The challenge in her voice was clear, but so was the genuine interest. This wasn’t just needling, she actually wanted to know.

“Brooks Enterprise,” I said after a beat. “Real estate acquisitions, international expansion. Ten years building what I thought would be my legacy.”

Her eyebrows lifted slightly. “Impressive resume. So why leave?”

I could have given her the polished answer. Could have brushed it off. But something about the way she was watching me, not with pity, but with that razor-sharp understanding.

“Because legacy only matters if it’s yours to keep.” I met her gaze. “My father handed everything I built to someone else. Didn’t even have the decency to look me in the eye when he did it.”

A beat of silence. Then, quietly: “Damn.”

“Yeah. Damn.”

She didn’t offer empty sympathy. Didn’t try to fix it. Just nodded slowly, like she was filing away this piece of information about me.

“And this?” She gestured between us. “Your fresh start?”

“Something like that.” I held her gaze. “Turns out some things are worth starting over for.”

The air between us shifted. She looked away first, but not before I caught the faintest softening around her eyes.

“Why?” she asked, leaning in just enough to close the space between us. “Why not fight for what’s rightfully yours?”

I studied her, how her fingers tightened around that pink pen like a weapon, the flicker in her eyes. This wasn’t curiosity. This was her trying the idea on for size. Testing the weight of it in her mouth before deciding if it fit her.

“Because sometimes you shouldn’t have to fight for what’s already yours,” I said, voice low, even. “If you do, maybe it never was.”

She didn’t blink. Just let the silence stretch, heavy and daring.

“But if you love it,” she said slowly, “isn’t it worth the fight?”

There it was. Not a question. A confession dressed like a challenge.

I held her gaze, steady. “You know your worth, Serena. That should be loud enough without you having to beg someone to hear it.”

Something flickered behind her eyes, something she didn’t mean for me to see. But it was there—unspoken, raw.

Then, the edge of her mouth curved. Not a smile, not exactly. More like a warning dressed in lip gloss.

“So this you talking me out of fighting for what’s mine?” she asked, playful now, but sharp. “Telling me to just let you take it?”

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